


Shimada Sandwiches

by kdweaver



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Genji Shimada is a Little Shit, Shimada Brothers, Subway AU, ciabatta brothers, fast food au, garbage, sandwich au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdweaver/pseuds/kdweaver
Summary: Hanzo just wants his younger brother to finally step up and become an adult who takes his job seriously. What will it take to finally make Genji take the art of sandwichcrafting seriously??





	Shimada Sandwiches

**Author's Note:**

> look i just got inspired by this powerful and terrifying art of Hanzo as a subway employee ok:
> 
> https://twitter.com/EmBBuChuu/status/1091053816504561664

Hanzo turned towards the window for a moment, catching a glimpse of the outside world. The trees planted in a row across the street were swaying in the wind, their bare branches reaching up towards a bright blue sky full of high, fast-moving clouds. Hanzo wondered what it must feel like - to stand and bear the winter, waiting patiently for the time when the day's hours grew long enough for life to burst forth once more. There was a peace to that, a nobility that Hanzo respected. Idly, he started to think of the characters he could use to make a haiku expressing his thoughts.

"Um, excuse me?" a customer asked, interrupting Hanzo's daydream. "I didn't order this with mustard."

Hanzo's attention snapped back to the present, and he straightened his posture even further as he stood behind the register. A woman stood in front of him, holding a tray on which an unwrapped sandwich had a single bite out of it. By the look of it, the sandwich was just wheat bread, ham, and the unwanted spicy mustard.

"My apologies, madam," he said, taking the tray and putting its contents in the trash, with a twinge of guilt. Despite how often he saw good food thrown out, the wastefulness of it never failed to pull at him. "I will remake that for you immediately. Wheat bread and ham?"

"That's right," she said, nodding. "Plain and simple."

Hanzo made the sandwich, wrapped it, and placed it on a clean, new tray in about fifteen seconds.

"My apologies for the inconvenience," he said again, holding the remade order out for her to take. "May I ask if you remember who made the incorrect order for you?"

"Oh, I don't remember his name - he had green hair, though. Kinda matched your apron."

"I see. Thank you."

Hanzo gritted his teeth, and glanced at the sandwich sitting in the trash. He didn't know why he even had to ask - Genji had been the only other one at the counter a few minutes ago. Apparently, Hanzo's talks with him had failed to make an impact yet again. Nonetheless, he had to keep trying. It was what their father would have wanted.

* * *

"I'm just saying - who the hell orders ham on wheat bread? That's not even a real sandwich! There's a reason we have a whole cooler full of other stuff, and it's to make real goddamn sandwiches, things that have cheese and dressings and flavor. It would have been a food crime to make that sandwich as-ordered. Do you want to make me a food criminal, bro?"

Hanzo's jaw-clench tension notched up another degree. As he suspected, Genji had been 'on break,' which usually meant vaping and playing Animal Crossing out by the dumpsters until Hanzo came to make him do his job again.

"Your job - is to take sandwich orders. Then, you make that sandwich. You're not a chef. Understand?"

Genji sighed exasperatedly, and nodded, closing his old, sticker-covered 3DS.

"Got it. Not a chef, just a sandwich robot. Beep-boop. They'll probably replace us all with those in a few years, anyway. Then all Dad's work will really have been for nothing."

A spike of anger ran up Hanzo's spine, and his glare intensified to a degree which made even Genji realize that he had crossed a line.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," he backed up, holding up his hands. "I know it still pays the bills, for both of us. But I just - he could have run a restaurant. A real restaurant, with three-course meals and sushi and everything. Not just this... sandwich bar."

Hanzo sighed. Genji had seen such a different side to their father. While Sojiro had cooked together with Genji in the kitchen, he'd lecture Hanzo on how to run a business and make a profit. Genji had absolutely no idea how hard it was to start a restaurant, to find suppliers, hire dishwashers and waiters and cooks, to buy equipment and pay utilities, to balance all these livelihoods, ambitions, and apetites on the head of a pin. He had no idea how often it failed.

There was safety in a franchise, a way to serve food which people already knew, already recognized. All the pieces were laid out efficiently, cleanly, and had been proven again and again, hundreds of different times. Sojiro had understood this, and Hanzo understood it was well. But Genji didn't. He sulked, balked at tiniest bit of responsibility handed to him, and thought it was all beneath his supposed culinary skills. And lately, he seemed to be purposefully provoking Hanzo as well.

Hanzo didn't know how to make Genji see reason. But he was an adult now, and not the kid brother Hanzo had seen him as for so long. It was time to stop making exceptions.

"You must have patience, Genji. If you have ambitions beyond this shop, then show me you can do your job right, and then I will support you."

Hanzo turned to go back into the store. But before stepping inside, he heard Genji mutter, "and what makes you think I need that, anyway?" under his breath.

"What was that?" Hanzo snapped, looking back at Genji.

Genji scowled, and stood up off the milk crate he had been sitting on.

"What makes you think I need your help, anyway? What can you do for me now, besides tell me what I've done wrong?"

"The world isn't as easy as you think; fate does not simply lay down a path before you because you have talent. Your skills still need to be honed."

Genji laughed. "On sandwiches? Are you fucking with me? This shit is basic, Hanzo. I could make a perfect sandwich with my eyes closed."

"Show me, then," Hanzo replied, crossing his arms. "Tonight, at closing, we will gather the staff, and have them judge whose skills are superior. If you are the victor - I'll sell the store, as you've wanted. Half the money will be yours to use as you see fit. But if you do not win - no more of this nonsense. You will follow the rules, and stop assuming airs you have not earned."

Genji's eyes opened wide in surprise.

"S-Sell? The store?" He shook his head. "I don't belive you'd do it."

"Have I ever broken a promise to you?" Hanzo asked. "I swear to you: if you win, I will sell the store."

"You're taking a big risk here, bro," Genji cautioned him. "But if you're serious... yeah. Hell yeah."

Hanzo couldn't help but smile a little. He was taking almost no risk at all.

* * *

Jesse and Amelie were sitting at a table, slightly confused at the situation they'd been put in at the end of their shifts. Before each of them was a tray with two wrapped sandwiches.

"So... boss, you just want us to say which of these two mystery sandwiches we like best?" Jesse asked.

"Correct," Hanzo answered. "It is.. an internal focus test." Genji said nothing, and stood tensely by the drinks machine.

"Well, I'll never say no to a free meal," Jesse shrugged, before pulling a sandwich towards him.

"I suppose not," Amelie sighed, and began to unwrap one of her sandwiches.

"Oh!" Jesse exclaimed. "Tuna melt - one of my favorites."

The sandwich Jesse had unwrapped first was a toasted wheat loaf, spread with a generous (but not excessive) helping of tuna salad, with thin slices of sharp cheddar melted perfectly on top. Critically, the bread had been toasted before applying the tuna and cheese, then the assembly had been put under a broiler to complete the melt. This technique ensured a consistent temperature throughout, structural stability in the bread, and a beautiful presentation.

"Ah - un sandwich parisien?" Amelie asked, looking with surprise at the neat sandwich she'd unwrapped. Its white bread was lightly toasted, just to provide crispness on the outside, and neatly sliced lengthwise. Salted butter was spread liberally on the inside, accompanied by thin slices of ham, folded elegantly and topped with fresh greens.

Amelie and Jesse picked up their sandwiches, and began to dig in. Jesse nodded, and Amelie chewed silently.

"Good sandwich," Jesse commented, putting it down after a few bites. "Strange that a sandwich still hits the spot after a day of making them, but it's true."

"This is not bad - for an American version of the real thing," Amelie admitted. "I would not be ashamed to give this to my mother, if she visited."

Hanzo smiled thinly, and waited for the next sandwiches to be unwrapped.

"Ok, suppose I gotta leave room for the next one t'be fair," Jesse said, moving on to the next one on his tray. "Looks good."

His next sandwich was another toasted white loaf, containing slices of turkey and ham, topped with bacon bits and dressed with salad and tomato. Wordlessly, Amelie also pulled the next sandwich in front of her. Unwrapping it, she revealed a whole-grain loaf, filled with diced, breaded chicken on top of ham, topped with melted cheese. They both began to eat.

"Dang. This is also a real fine sandwich," Jesse judged, scratching the back of his head.

"Is this supposed to be cordon bleu?" Amelie huffed, opening hers to look inside. "These flavors aren't bad, but... it is quite heavy. A little much."

After a few more bites, they both put the sandwiches down, and sat back in their seats.

"So, which do you prefer?" Hanzo asked after a minute.

"The first," Amelie responded straight away. "It understands what a sandwich should be."

"And you, Jesse?" Hanzo prompted him.

"Well... they're both real good, but I gotta say... the first for me, too. Reminds me of home. Can we keep the rest of 'em?"

Hanzo nodded. They had both chosen his sandwich - their favorite sandwiches, as it so happened - as he knew they would. He turned to look at Genji by the drinks dispenser, but he had disappeared. In the back of the store, Hanzo heard the door outside closing.

"Thank you both," he said. "Excuse me."

Walking quickly to the back door, Hanzo opened it, and saw Genji walking towards his Civic.

"Genji!" Hanzo shouted at his back. "Where are you going? You still need to close your register."

Genji's footsteps halted, but he did not turn to face Hanzo. Instead, he stood unmoving, his shoulders squared.

"I won our deal. Now, you need to step up and do your job, as you promised," Hanzo reminded him.

Instead of turning and coming back into the store, Genji started untying his apron, balled it up, and yelled "I quit!" in a strained voice as he threw it back at Hanzo's face. It missed, instead passing over Hanzo's shoulder and falling onto the ground. Hanzo scowled.

"Stop being childish," he chided Genji. "Come back to work."

Genji just shook his head, and stepped further back.

"Do you have any idea what an asshole you are, Hanzo? You just wanted to get my hopes up, then shit all over them," Genji sniffed, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. "My sandwiches were just as good as yours, and you know it. You just rigged it by choosing what Jesse and Amelie already like!"

Hanzo huffed. "Exactly, Genji. That is how life works. That is how we make money. That is how I knew I would win."

Genji just kept walking backwards and shaking his head.

"This just shows why nobody ever likes you, Hanzo," Genji jabbed, before opening the door to his car and climbing in.

The Civic's engine roared to life, amplified through the terrible aftermarket muffler which was Genji's sole modification to the car, other than a huge number of bumper stickers. The car backed up rapidly, its transmission whining in reverse, before Genji slammed it into first and its tires skidded to pull it out forward, away, and out of the parking lot. Seconds later, it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

After a moment, Hanzo loosened his stiff posture, and bent over to pick up Genji's discarded apron. He'd need it when he eventually came back to work.

* * *

Hanzo sat down at his kitchen table with a bowl of microwaved ramen, and glanced into his aquarium in the kitchen's corner. A goldfish inside seemed to make eye contact with him for a split second, but then it turned and swam away, hiding in weeds in the back of the tank.

Frowning, Hanzo looked back down at his food. Though it was dinnertime, he didn't feel particularly hungry. Picking up his chopsticks, he began to pull some noodles out of the broth anyway. Just as soon had them in his mouth, the phone in his pocket began to ring. Quickly, Hanzo pulled it out of his pocket: it was Genji calling.

Hanzo swallowed the barely-chewed noodles, and let a breath out. He hadn't heard from Genji in a week. That was longer than usual, he noted, before swiping to pick up the call.

"Genji?" Hanzo asked.

"Heya, bro," a voice in the earpiece crackled out. The connection was terrible; it sounded like an old walkie-talkie that was transmitting through a thunderstorm.

"Where are you?" Hanzo asked. "Your roommates would not tell me."

"I moved out," Genji told him calmly, before continuing on. "Hanzo - I'm serious about quitting this time. I need some space from the shop. I... need some space from you."

"...I see," Hanzo responded after a long pause. "Will you at least tell me where you are going?"

"A friend in LA said he could get me a job as a line cook. I'm going to give it a try."

"Los Angeles?? Are you driving all the way to California alone? Where will you live when you arrive there?" Hanzo asked in a flurry.

Genji sighed over the phone, a noise translated through the line into a wave of static.

"I just need to try this, Hanzo. I need to do this for myself," he insisted, the strength of his voice still coming through clearly. "I'm gonna go now, I need to get back on the road."

"Geni, wait," Hanzo interrupted, holding up a hand as though his brother could see it. Hanzo's chest was tight, and it felt like there was something he still had to say while the tenuous connection between them was still open.

"I realize things between us have been tense, since father passed," he started slowly. "But Genji, I - you are my only brother. I want you to be able to succeed. I wanted to teach you the things which father left out."

"Yeah," Genji acknowledged, "I know that's what you thought you were doing. Take care, Hanzo."

And with that, the call ended, and the static dropped into silence. Once more, there was only the bubbling of the fish tank in the corner, Hanzo sitting by himself at the table, and a bowl of ramen in front of him which had cooled to lukewarm.

* * *

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and not a single customer had come into the store during the past hour. Nonetheless, Hanzo stood behind the counter, waiting to greet whoever might come in next. The air seemed to wait alongside him, vacant and still, biding its time through the long, thin hours of the afternoon between lunch and dinner.

Genji's absence seemed to linger in the air as well. Hanzo found that every so often, he would look over his shoulder, and think that his brother must be slacking off by the dumpster again. But he wasn't back there, and as the days streched on, it sank in that it was unlikely he would ever be there again.

Hanzo had also expected things to be easier with Genji gone. Perhaps at first, they had been; he no longer had to poke and prod Genji to do his work right. But things never ran smoothly in a service industry; the rest of the staff still made mistakes, and customers still got angry over issues Hanzo previously couldn't have imagined until they arose. Now that they were down an employee, there was just more all-around for him to take care of.

Hanzo knew that he'd have to actually replace Genji soon; covering both of their jobs was incredibly draining. And yet, part of him held on to denying he'd have to actually replace Genji, and take him off the books. To do so would leave Hanzo alone, the last member of the family in the shop their father had built up from the ground. But even if it was alone, he had to carry on the business; that was his duty as a son, was it not?

The door jingled, and a customer walked in. Hanzo corrected his posture a fraction of a degree, took their order, made it, and cashed them out. They took their tray to a table, set it down and unwrapped the sandwich which Hanzo had so perfectly made. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them eat half of it while reading on their phone, and throw out the rest before leaving.

What was the point of taking pride in your work, when it didn't matter? This was something Hanzo had never considered while acting as counterexample for Genji. But with the emptiness inside the store expanding to swallow him once more, the thought finally crossed into his mind to fill the vacuum, and it stuck there. No matter how Hanzo tried to rid himself of it, it stuck around through the rest of the afternoon and the evening, growing more stubborn the longer Hanzo stayed in the shop. It made him think about Genji, driving himself down the country to try something new. It made him think about how much time he spent preparing a food he didn't even like. It made him imagine a different world, one where he was the person driving to California.

As he envisioned it, there seemed to be only a thin membrane separating Hanzo from that reality, as if it was close enough that he could see it, touch it. And yet, that barrier remained under his hand, cutting him off from its possibilities. What would it take, Hanzo wondered as he finally climbed into bed for the night, to allow him to break through it? Sighing, he turned out the light and stared up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom, trying not to answer the question. But the absence still stretched on, and so did Hanzo's thoughts.


End file.
